


On the Tiles

by gelowo93



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Meetings, Gen, Scrabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 19:48:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2037780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gelowo93/pseuds/gelowo93
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is the five time winner of the National Scrabble Tournament, and he's losing to the newbie. However, he might be winning something else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Tiles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mandralyne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandralyne/gifts).



> This was written for Mandralyne's prompt: How about Merlin and Arthur as competitive scrabble players for a story prompt please
> 
> Because of a bit of a mix up on my part (and my impatience, and tumblr eating messages) this was beta'd by takingoffmyshoes and lupislune, so a big thank you to both of them. Any remaining mistakes are entirely my own.

Arthur was not happy.

He was losing.

He grit his teeth, trying to ignore the hundreds of people surrounding him, the cameras, the big screen showing the match to those unfortunate enough to be stood at the back of the hall. There was supposed to be silence in the hall, but the footsteps of the stewards echoed, and there was the ever-present mumbling of people whispering to their neighbours. The noise was inevitable, though it didn’t stop Arthur from disliking it.

Emrys was still fiddling with the tiles on his rack. The sand at the bottom of the timer was piling up, and as far as Arthur could tell, Emrys only had about thirty seconds left. _Good, maybe he’ll have to forfeit this turn._

The irritation of losing wasn’t helped by the fact that Emrys had been unknown two days ago. Arthur hadn’t even heard of him in passing, as a player who was slowly making a name for himself, but then the tournament had started, and Emrys had sailed through the first few rounds. Heads had started to turn when he walked past, and rumours had been spread that even Arthur hadn’t managed to ignore completely, and suddenly Merlin Emrys was the favourite to win.

Arthur’s father hadn’t liked that, and he had made sure that Arthur knew it. Arthur hadn’t been concerned by the newbie; he’d stopped to watch part of his previous matches, and while there had been no doubt that the man was good, a new player just didn’t turn up to his first tournament and win. It never happened. Sometimes the good ones would reach the quarter-finals, and the majority would get knocked out there. Arthur had known two or three to get into the semi-finals and do well, but in the end they would lose. No one in Arthur’s memory had reached the final in their first tournament and give the reigning champion a hard time.

The reigning champion with a five-year winning streak.

Arthur stared at the sandglass, counting down the seconds. _Twenty… nineteen… eighteen… seventeen…_ Emrys still hadn’t moved, he was frowning at his rack… _fourteen… thirteen…_

Lightning fast, Emrys moved. Collecting his tiles in one hand, he placed them on the board, playing ‘QUEENS’.  Arthur groaned inwardly. He knew he shouldn’t have played _sexual_ with the ‘S’ beneath the Triple Word square, but, dammit, it had been the best scoring word he could play, and had gotten rid of his ‘X’, even if it had completely set up Emrys’ next turn, as well as earning him a laugh from the crowd.

Emrys glanced up at Arthur after placing the last tile on the board, smirked slightly, looked up at him from under his eyelashes, and winked.

Arthur was too stunned by Emrys’ suggestive wink to be too annoyed that he was now over a hundred points behind the other man.

How did Emrys know about him? It wasn’t like he went around announcing his sexuality to everyone he walked past, but it wasn’t exactly a secret. Unless Arthur was overthinking, and Emrys was just being arrogant about winning. No – that wasn’t it. The smirk and brief flirtatious look didn’t fit in with that theory. What was Emrys thinking? The final of a scrabble tournament was hardly the place to go to pick up guys.

Not that Emrys wasn’t good looking; if he had met him anywhere else then Arthur might have been tempted. He was scrawny, with a thin face and ears that stuck out far too much from under his jet black hair for them to not be noticeable. But, somehow, it suited the man, with cheekbones that Arthur could cut himself on, and sky blue eyes. He had a smile that lit up his entire face, and if nothing else about Emrys made Arthur take notice, then it was his smile that Arthur would remember, and the way it gave him shivers.

Emrys turned over the sandglass, and Arthur’s turn started. He glared down at the tiles on his rack, annoyed at the high number of vowels he had. He had a ‘U’, though, and could make use of that ‘Q’…

As soon as he saw it, Arthur knew he didn’t want to play the word. Doing some quick mental maths, he worked out that it would give him twenty-four points. A respectable amount, but nowhere near what he needed to be scoring to catch up with Emrys. However, the board was filling up, and soon he’d be struggling to use longer and high scoring words.

Hating himself, Arthur used the ‘Q’ Emrys had just placed, and played ‘QUICKIE’.

The crowd erupted in laughter that was quickly silenced by the stewards. Emrys grinned, inclining his head to the side.

“I’m up for it if you are.”

The whisper was so quiet that Arthur wasn’t sure if he’d heard right. Emrys’ grin grew wider and Arthur felt his face heat. Doing his best to ignore him, Arthur picked up six new tiles and reset the timer.

Arthur grew more and more frustrated as the match carried on. Emrys’ lead continued growing with each turn, and Arthur had no idea how he was doing it. There was no way he could win now, so Arthur focussed on watching Emrys, trying to figure out his method. He spent a lot of the three minutes of his turn staring at the tiles on his rack, rearranging them, and shaking his head occasionally. He’d normally have decided on a word by the time he only had a minute left, but sometimes Emrys would use every last second. Then, during Arthur’s turn, Emrys would barely glance at his own tiles, and stare at the board. This was a complete contrast to how Arthur played: he would spend his opponent’s turn trying to find as many words as he could using his own tiles, and then hopefully whoever he was playing wouldn’t play a word that would disrupt Arthur’s plans.

Arthur wanted to sit down with Emrys after the match. He wanted to discuss the differences in their strategies, and ask him what he was thinking during his opponent’s turn. He wanted to find out how he had risen through the ranks so quickly and barely causing a stir in the scrabble community.

It was obvious when Emrys had only one tile left. He had spent the match hunched over the table, always fully focussed on the game, but that changed all of a sudden. He relaxed, leaning back in his chair, and his gaze shifted from his rack to Arthur.

Arthur exhaled loudly through his nose. He still had four tiles left, and had no way of getting rid of them all in one go. If he was going to lose this badly, Arthur wanted to be able to finish the match on his terms, but it didn’t look like that was going to happen. He managed to play two of his tiles, scoring a meagre twelve points, and as he reset the timer, Arthur nodded at Emrys.

Emrys’ acknowledging smile lasted for less than a second. He placed his final tile on the board, glancing up at Arthur and his cheeky grin accompanied a raise of his eyebrows. Arthur looked at the board to see that all Emrys had done was add an ‘S’ to the end of ‘drink’, and Arthur smiled back in reply, making Emrys grin wider.

Arthur didn’t pay much attention as the formalities of finishing the match were carried out. Scorecards were checked by the referees and signed, tile racks were turned over, the tile bag was thoroughly searched to make sure they hadn’t accidently left a tile in there. Emrys reached over the table, hand held out.

Arthur shook it, leaning in to say, “Congratulations, Emrys.”

“Please, call me Merlin.”

“This was your first tournament, wasn’t it, Merlin?”

“Yeah, kind of can’t believe it,” Merlin said with a laugh.

“Enjoy every moment of it.”

Arthur let go and stepped away, letting Merlin have the spotlight. He was standing back, watching as a woman came down from the crowd and embraced Merlin – Arthur guessed she was his mother – when a steward ushered him towards the makeshift stage where the presentation would take place.

The runners-up match had finished before the final, and the woman who had come in third place was already standing at the side of the stage, fidgeting with the end of her long sleeves. Arthur whispered congratulations to her, and she smiled at him.

Five minutes later, Merlin joined them, walking past Arthur to stand behind him. He was still wearing his infectious grin and Arthur couldn’t help smiling back as Merlin went past.

The lights in the hall dimmed, leaving only those that were lighting up the stage. The President of the National Scrabble Association stepped up onto the stage, and the chattering that had started amongst the audience while they were waiting died down until the hall was silent. He introduced himself – unnecessarily, in Arthur’s opinion, because he doubted that there was a single person in the room who didn’t know who William Kilgharrah was – and began the usual speech. It was the same every year, and Arthur could probably recite it from memory.

Eventually, it was time to present the awards. Kilgharrah turned to the table behind him, where there were three bouquets of flowers and trophies.

“In third place… Gwen Smith.”

The woman in front of Arthur walked on stage to a smattering of applause. Kilgharrah handed her the small trophy and a bouquet of flowers. She waved once, and then was gone down the steps at the other end of the stage.

“Taking second place… Arthur Pendragon.”

There was significantly more cheering as Arthur walked up the steps and onto the stage. He shook hands with Kilgharrah, accepted the flowers and small silver trophy, and headed down the steps and around to the back of the stage.

Arthur had done this enough that he knew he was supposed to go straight out through the exit behind the stage, because there was no real backstage, but he hung around. Merlin’s name was called out, and the cheering from the crowd was deafening. He spent longer on the stage, Arthur assumed that he was bowing and waving at the crowd, enjoying his time in the spotlight.

There was a tap on Arthur’s shoulder, and he glanced round to see a stewardess looking hesitant.

“Sir, if you could exit, please.”

“Just a moment.”

“Sir–”

Arthur glared at her, and the stewardess took a step back before turning on her heel and hurrying away.

As Arthur looked back round, Merlin walked around the corner of the stage. He stopped as soon as he saw Arthur waiting for him.

“Congratulations, again,” Arthur said, and then, “About that drink?”

“What about it?” Merlin started walking towards him slowly.

Arthur gestured at the cheque in Merlin’s hand.  “You’re paying.”

Merlin beamed.  Arthur fell into step with him, and they exited the hall together.


End file.
